


Always, Hers

by Dreamkissed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, BDSM, Dom/sub, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamkissed/pseuds/Dreamkissed
Summary: A light one-shot from Hermione's point of view.  As the war drags on, a failed mission leads to Hermione finding her place, and her plan for after the war.





	Always, Hers

I wished I could blame someone for this, anyone, anything, any one moment or choice that could have changed reality. There was nothing, no prophecies or secret plans. It was a simple matter of time before the situation in England changed. Hogwarts fell to the Dark Lord in the first battle, but was retaken in the second. It had gone from school to fortress, the heart of the resistance. Ron coordinated with various cells throughout southern England. Harry had 'fled' to America, the Prophet celebrated "The-Boy-Who-Ran" with a special propaganda edition. It did not change the fact that the Resistance supply crates had MACUSA stenciled on the sides, and newer members of the Order had American accents.

The Horcrux plan was brilliant, if the Dark Lord had not figured it out, we could have won that first battle. The snake-nosed bastard however decided to reintegrate the shards of his soul, including the one within Harry. The Ministry of Magic was all-but-secured by the Dark Lord. The Order had become the Resistance. And I, there's a reason I call him the Dark Lord now.

It was a raid on a magical repository in South Cornwall, several valuable magical items and tomes. I lead the attack, we recovered the items, but someone was left behind in the fight. I like to think I did a good job. The items we went in to steal are now in the Hogwarts library being picked apart. Other than me, no losses. Several elite Death Eaters dead. I managed to hold my own in a fight with three senior members of the inner circle. And then she showed up to the fight. Fashionably late.

Bellatrix fucking Black. She thanked me during the Second Battle of Hogwarts when I painted the former potions master's office with her husband's entrails. I've gotten used to her namesake curse, thrown it back a few times to her. You learn to duel, or you die, and I learned fast, but I'm still young. She is the better witch, and to the Victor goes the spoils.

Which is why I am in Bellatrix's bedroom suite, nude, aside from the enchanted steel around my neck. A fucking collar, with a little ring on it. She was going to take particular delight pulling me around by it. Then she started talking in that damn voice of hers. Like her silken tongue was behind my ear. She explicitly outlined what she was going to do with me. Taking particular pride in turning me into her obedient pet and there was nothing I could do to prevent it from happening.

I guess she was expecting rage, shock, anger, perhaps sadness. The surprise on her face was almost enough to make me laugh through the indifferent tilt of my head that I gave. Mudblood medicine was far more advanced than Wizard medicine in many ways. Like Psychology. She thought she was being scary or novel by promising to break me. Not fucking surprised. Of course she is going to break me, a human mind, no matter how disciplined, could only handle so much.

If I resist her, it is just going to add to the laundry list of traumas I have to deal with after this war. I need to be at my best when the rescue attempt comes. It would do little good if I am starving and beaten when the cavalry comes. So I'll play her little games. I told her so, I'd be her good little obedient mudbitch, and that I didn't do pet-play. She slapped me for my impudence, but I knew that addressing her as "My Mistress" softened the blow.

I saw the wheels turning in her head. She was on guard now, expecting my actions were a trick of some kind. We were now in a game of chess. I knew she was thinking I was playing along until I could escape. I also saw in her eyes how she was changing her plans to still break me. She was playing five moves ahead. And so was I.

My move, I took two steps towards her and dropped to my knees in front of her. My legs were spread slightly as I settled down on my haunches. I lay my arms on top of my thighs, palms up and relaxed. I made sure my hair was behind my shoulders. Back straight, chest out. I met her gaze through my eyelashes. I saw the reaction my move was having upon her. I made no effort to hide my own. I would wait until rescue, let my Mistress have her fun, and get some intel. Perhaps being Hermione 'Mudbitch' Black wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Six months, seventeen days. A little longer than I thought it would take them. The battle was quite furious. Lupin lead several hit-wizards under invisibility cloaks into Black Manor under cover of a magi-storm courtesy of our American allies. My rescue wasn’t the only successful op that night, turns out when you are the underdog, you have far more to gain than lose. Hooded and cloaked, I was escorted to a secure holding facility. I should be more upset right? No, I was the one who wrote these procedures, the risk of infiltration was far too high to bring people directly to critical locations.

After a medical exam and a throughout debriefing, I was allowed visitors. Ron and Harry were the first; Harry was back in country for meetings. We shared a laugh over everyone’s apologizing that Harry didn’t come running in to save me. He had matured far more than they gave credit sometimes.

We had agreed, none of us were special anymore, just soldiers in a war. There would be no grandiose rescue attempts that only result in more death. Every mission was a goodbye. You get numb to them after a while.

Only Harry was brave, or stupid enough to address the elephant in the room. He did have the decency to wait until it was the two of us. The interrogation and debriefing had satisfied any questions of my loyalty. People expressed how amazed and proud they were at my having the strength to withstand My Mistress and what she must have done to me.

Thankfully, the details of what happened were not confirmed or left to rumor by the Resistance Aurors. Harry saw through it all. Not any lack of loyalty, that wasn’t an issue. My resistance, the clues that only growing up together can reveal.

I made no fuss over my collar. Yes, the enchantments ensure that only My Mistress is capable of even attempting to remove it, but no one else noticed the comfort I had with it. How I touched it when stressed. Caressed it when no one else was looking, with a smile.

He caught the hesitation and pain in my voice when I attempted to use My Mistress’s name. Others chalked it up to trauma. He saw the devotion and affection when I called Her my Mistress.

He caught the way I cuddled my arm when I was resting. The scar healed and redone, this time with care and leisure. It wasn’t a brand done in the heat of the moment anymore; it was a badge of honor from my Mistress.

His questions weren’t probing or juvenile. They cut deeply and straight to the point. There was no judgement either, only understanding. And sympathy.

He wanted to understand. Understand how I survived and how I broke. I told him. The truth, or at least the decent parts. He had no reason to know the depraved things my Mistress did with me, and I had little desire to share such intimate moments.

He already knew of my capture, so I started from there. Her taunts, threats and promises. Survival was the goal, and pride is only a liability in that goal. I gave in, shoved my pride down. From the start, I decided to be Her’s. I did what I needed to survive. To keep her from torturing me, injuring me, to consider disposing of me. I pretended to be obedient, the collar and Her Will would compel a loyalty of sorts. Not to her cause, but her Dominance.

I’m not sure when it became real. When she realized that a submissive was better than a pet. When she gave me my wand back. When I bowed to he-who-must-not-be-named on her order. Regardless, she broke me just like she said she would. But because I let her do it, because I embraced it, she never destroyed me.

He was brave enough to ask the question no one else knew to ask. Would I go back to my Mistress. He used that title. The silence stretched past minutes. He watched me, and I thought. I wanted England free. I wanted he-who-must-not-be-named dead. His followers dead or imprisoned. All except one.

When my words came, they were soft but absolute. I would not need to return to my Mistress, I was and always will be, irrevocably, Hers. He understood in a way no one else would.

* * *

Things always change, in ways we can’t expect. The Irish did it again. They demanded the return of the old ways from the leadership, and when they couldn’t deliver, they threatened secession. From there the ball started rolling.

Creature rights were next; several factions switched sides or went independent. The vampires joining the resistance was a signpost. The restoration of The Emerald Throne gave the Resistance a pocket of land. A pocket that grew to include most of Ireland and all of Scotland.

The Resistance put actions to words. The leadership was increasingly half-blood or Muggle-born. Creatures were welcomed as they pleased. We didn’t bother with laws or hearings when it came to rights and freedoms.

The goblins threw in with us. Pureblood gold became the people’s gold. The Resistance was becoming a revolution. And it wasn’t long until it became a restoration.

The statue of Secrecy was being pushed to its limits, and it was only with careful negotiation and agreements that got the Queen and Parliament to support the Provisional government rather than the Ministry of Magic.

The start of the final battle was set, a coordinated strike upon the Ministry, covert and deadly. We no longer had the luxuries of time and political freedom. If we didn’t go soon, MI6 would do it for us.

I led the squad to take the Department of Mysteries. Those of us going in had practiced and drilled with a single spell to use as we needed on the mission. Wandless, Wordless, Killing curse. It was old magic, from before the Ministry reforms. It required not just hate, but brutal detachment.

The entry was easy. The confusion on the part of Death Eaters was brief, seeing their colleagues drop dead moments before they joined them. We slipped through the atrium with cloaks and made our entry to the DoM.

Loyalist Unspeakables were on guard, and we weren’t five steps out of the lift shaft when we had to resort to open dueling. It was a repeat, a sequel to the battle back in my fifth year. The conclusion to what started there. I just didn’t know how accurate that would be in that moment.

The damage inflicted will likely take decades to recover. The loyalists were wiped out to the last, and more than half of my squad was dead by the time we secured the Department. We began clearing it room by room. Most were workers, desk jockeys. They were disabled and kept for later questioning. There were still stragglers left behind hiding by the occasional cry of spells.

I got to the Trace room. The warded door was very recently opened. I felt it before I saw it. She was there. The room’s contents were far more intact than I expected. The records of every magical individual in England. Every current and future student of Hogwarts. Animagus registration. Apparition licenses. Magical birth and death certificates. Normally only the Record Keepers are able to enter, and only then, with the explicit permission of the Minister of Magic, Head of the Wizengamot, AND Head of the Department of Magical Enforcement.

The desk in front of a map of Wizarding England was occupied by a hunched form. A metal can on the floor smoldered with a baleful green smoke. Whatever was in there was not in existence any more. I saw the drawers stacked up on the desk.

My eyes looked at each label, my wand lowering as I realized what they were. Her laughter grew from a quiet chuckle to her full-bodied cackle. The most loyal of his followers, in this room, could, should have done far more damage than I could see. Wand pointed at the ground, I stepped towards her.

She took my leash with a finger through the steel ring, and I did not bother holding back my moan. Dropping to my knees was automatic, done on reflex. Her voice still sounded the same, soft velvet caressing my ears. She clearly explained what she did, completely. I couldn’t help the excitement and anticipation that built with her every word.

Our records were gone, altered as well. No school transcripts, no Birth certificates, no Ministry records, no Trace or wand signatures. As far as the Wizarding World could prove, Hermione Jean Granger, And Bellatrix Mira Black never existed.

I don’t know of any words that could express the gratitude and affection I had in that moment. Only actions could express it. My wand flicked over myself and my armored robes became the strict leather body harness She adored on me. I resumed the basic pose, resting on my haunches, knees spread, back straight, and my wand offered to her in both hands.

The war was over, and I had survived. I wouldn’t be around to participate in cleaning up, or rebuilding, but I had more than earned this. Once more in the possession of my Mistress, I only felt relief and contentment. I whispered her title, that adoration and utter submission clear in my tone as I felt the familiar tug behind my navel.


End file.
